Simply Head Scratching
by Scare4irony
Summary: Sherlock, plus a gun, plus an itch equals nothing good...especially for John.


AN: Hi! Well I'm back and wanted to thank everyone who review my first Sherlock story Waking Up At 221B Baker Street. So new story, slight spoilers for TGG but may deviate just a tad from the actual scene. I was watching the final scene and I'll I thought during Sherlock's second last set of dialogue was 'holy crap he's scratching his head with a gun!' So here is the result of that thought.

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**SIMPLY HEAD SCRATCHING  
**

_He's finally had enough! _John thinks mesmerised as Sherlock walks away from him with the gun still in his hands. It's perilously close to his head and the he balks watching the sociopath actually_ scratch _his head barrel first, safety still off. It damn near gives him a heart attack but he has to focus on what Sherlock's saying because the man saved his life.

The gun touches Sherlock's forehead. _"That...uh...thing you did-"_

_Did?_ He hasn't done anything. Just tried to keep Sherlock from dying. Nothing different or out of the ordinary because even though Sherlock and the rest of society says that he doesn't have friend, he wants him to know that he will be there right by his bloody side, hell he'll even go to jail if need be...he's come close as well, damn Sherlock and that bloody ASBO!

_"...that you offered to do. That was...um...good." _Sherlock glares at the words feeling the barrel of the gun inch across the skin of his neck. _Good doesn't bloody describe it._

_Huh? Good, okay_. John thinks still trying to breathe normally.

And then it strikes him. Sherlock cares. And wont stop scratching his head with the bloody gun!

**?_?**

When it happens again John throws a fit.

It's nothing spectacular. Just a regular day in the flat but Sherlock has the gun in one hand and a vile of powder in the other and he's inching the gun to the back of his head while sniffing the vile.

John watches the young man look over his notes and then back at the powder placing the gun down and fingering the long metal probe in front of him.

Sighing in relief he looks back down to the laptop. When he raises his eyes a minute later cricking his neck to relieve the pressure of a horrid posture he stop and stares, Sherlock has the gun within his hand and his itching the back of his head. The vile is still in his grasp as he brings it closer to his nose. In slow motion he see's Sherlock's eyes screw up and his forehead crease in agitation.

He sneezes - vial breaking and the gun sounding off.

Jumping, John throws the laptop down hearing it smash behind him as Sherlock lifts his head from it's bent position, hair matted in plasterboard and ceiling dust. His left hand is dripping with blood - gun limp in the right."Sherlock! Oh Christ are you alright?" He's next to the man in seconds sliding the gun across the table and hauling Sherlock to his feet. Towels are placed strategically over the bleeding hand and he pulls the shocked man closer to the sink where he murmurs angrily to himself.

"John."

_For fucks sake! You nearly blew your' larger than human' brains out with a gun. Do you're over sized brains house a complex for sanity and common sense?_

"John!" Sherlock looks at him with a troubled expression. "You're holding too tightly," he hisses softly, "it hurts."

_That hurts, that _hurts! He grabs the lapels of Sherlock's jacket and pulls him down to his level. "You could have blown your brains out!" he yells. He can feel his face flush but he's just too angry. He needs Sherlock alive, not just for the world because God knows that the criminal classes will have a frickin' party once Sherlock's gone. But for him as well.

"It's not a big-" Sherlock begins, fingers carding though his hair to watch the dust fall like snow.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence! Do you have any idea that you scratch your head _with a gun_? I noticed it when Moriarty got us at the pool but we were both shaken up, I'll let that slide. Now. We are in the bloody flat! You do not do that, do you understand me? Sherlock looks put out and his eyes are dark at the quieter tone, " I will not have you die."

His rant is done. And damn he's tired. Sherlock still watches him eyes flickering between the table and his face.

"If you really feel like you need to scratch your head then put down something and scratch or if your two hands are occupied _ask me_." He bites his tongue - _dear lord what have I done?_ He's just signed a death warrant. Closing his eyes he breathes in deeply unable to believe what he just offered to do. He can already imagine the new rounds of '_John! John! John!'._

Sherlock's nose wrinkles but he nods his head in understanding.

**?_?**

_Need you urgently. Flat. Now._

_SH_

The text message is opened in the middle of a consultation with a little old lady in the clinic. She looks at him kindly telling him, 'no matter dear, I'll come round tomorrow.' John looks at her and calls her an angel before showing her out of the room.

_Shit, what now?_ He feels his heart beat a little faster at the prospect of what could be in the flat. Maybe pissed of Japanese ninjas, or maybe Sherlock needs another pen.

John grabs his belongings and all but runs down the street feeling slight relief seeing the door of 221B in the distance. He races upstairs ignoring Mrs Hudson who complains about the 'god awful racket upstairs.' Pushing the handle open -he isn't surprised that it hasn't been locked. Entering his eyes automatically scan for something not right. When he finds nothing he calls out.

"In here!" comes from Sherlock's bedroom.

He walks into the room finding Sherlock standing, violin in arms, bow moving rapidly, eyes only making sweeping glances at the music in front of him. "What is it?"

Still staring at the music Sherlock drops the violin and bow to his sides mindful of not letting either piece or instrument touch the floor. "Violin case is missing. You know that I strictly wont put my violin anywhere other than it's case when not being played. As I can't let go of either the bow or violin my hands are otherwise occupied."

John stares slack jawed at the younger Holmes brother having a vague notion of where this is going.

Sherlock tips his head slightly to the side and states matter-of-factly: "I need you to scratch my head."

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AN: There we go :D I hope you all enjoyed that and sorry if that characters seem OOC! Please leave reviews/concrit so on - much appreciated. Scare4irony


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